The Strongest
by FreezePride
Summary: Xaldin, Lexaeus, Zexion. It was the question which everyone had been wondering, yet too fearful to ask. Who was the strongest after all?


Sparring matches were perfunctory in Organization XIII, particularly for the warriors. It was not uncommon to see them battling away into the late hours of the night and yes, even early mornings. Their muscles had to stay completely honed, entirely in tuned with their reflexes. What way they chose to train themselves was up to the fighter in question, but it was absolute necessary for them train nonetheless.

What was not perfunctory, or even common, was for Xemnas to be present, watching and attentive. Yet there he was, standing before them, looking small in comparison to the two fighters standing out in the open before him. He had his arms crossed, and his even keel expression could almost be described as bored if one did not take note that he had not stopped watching, or moved for quite some time. Unreadable as ever. He had said it before everyone at the meeting, proclaimed it that very night lazily in that deep voice of his.

"Lexaeus and Xaldin must spar against one another. I need to know which of you is stronger." Six of those present knew that this was a horrifying mistake. Three of them knew the reason as to why. Two of those cast one another a glance which they had not sparred one another since losing their hearts. One of them knew who was going to win, while one more was almost certain.

All thirteen were present regardless. To say that they were all curious would have been an understatement.

The question had lingered in all of their minds. The two best warriors were obvious out of the lot: brawny and muscular, they looked intimidating to begin with (not the kind of men you'd want to start a bar fight with). Add to that the years of training, of expertly sparring one another as guards in what seemed eons ago. Then, on top of that, the time which they had spent training apart since losing the core of their being, training their own specific fighting styles in it's own intuitive direction. Lexaeus had grown infinitely stronger and Xaldin had become a tactical genius of sorts.

The sound permeating the air was the slow, steady and deep breathing from the two fighters in question (aside from the rapid fire scratching of pen across paper as Vexen took hasty, albeit accurate, notes on the entire proceedings). The fight thus far had been skillful, but careful and somewhat predictable. Both were testing their grounds, playing the careful game of give and take in how much information they were willing to part with to their enemy's advantage.

Because that was what it had boiled down to. The anger in their eyes was unmistakable. There was bitterness behind those blows, the cries behind every strike of their weapon. They echoed, loud, angry and jarring against the stark white walls of the Room of Honing as though they were cursing at one another.

Xaldin's dragonlances had long since ripped through the grounds, flipping and slicing the air as they missed their targets, getting stuck in shields of pure stone, brought up up by Lexaeus' skilled hand. Metal met metal over and over again, causing sparks to fly. A clench of teeth, an intake of breath, a shout and they were at it once again, Xaldin knocked off balance this time, sending him sprawling backwards with a cry of frustration and pain.

Lexaeus lunged forward to deliver a final blow and knock his opponent out, swiftly and soundly. Too late did he realize he had been duped. With a small gasp of pain, he felt the lance blindside, distracting his attentions for the precious second which Xaldin needed to uppercut him in jaw, rattling him as he staggered backwards and fell heavily to the floor with a decisive (and rather loud) thud. A second one indicated that his weapon had fallen with him and lay uselessly at his side.

The scribbling continued as the dust settled and the room finally fell into a heavy, unbelieving silence. Xaldin straightened, looking down at the fallen form of Lexaeus, breathing heavily and clutching at a few deep red bruises forming on his torso. He didn't look elated, happy. He didn't laugh and offer his hand in trying to wake the giant up as he might have so very long ago. But his cold eyes did not waver from the spectacle. Xemnas said nothing, neither did the rest as twelve sets of eyes (or singular eye for one of them) looked down at the 'Silent Hero', unbelieving or simply amused.

There was a slow intake of breath as Xemnas opened his mouth to speak but he was interrupted by a rather unexpected noise from behind him: applause. Or perhaps, rather, a solitary figure clapping, his confidant mouth set in a small, lazy grin of amusement. Zexion made a great show of yawning loudly and then rubbing his hands together as though to awaken himself. "That was a good show, Lexaeus, but you're fooling no one. Or, at least no one smart." He turned pointedly to look at Saix, his amused grin growing upon seeing him flush in anger." He sighed, apparently quite unimpressed as he spoke down to the massive recumbent figure who was still staunchly unmoving.

"Really, Lexaeus, this is no time to be fooling idiots. Get up and fight. I mean, actually fight." He shot a challenging look at Xaldin, and the glare that was returned could have defined loathing. "Not this playtime you've been insisting on." He waved a gloved hand flippantly and bent to pat him on the shoulder, an exceedingly poor imitation of actual concern. "Now, get up." He ordered.

From over his notebook, Vexen quirked a brow at the spectacle. The gathered members shifted uncomfortably as seconds ticked by. Zexion's look of boredom morphed into annoyance. "Get up." He hissed in annoyance. "You know how I hate to repeat myself."

Yet again, the seconds ticked by. Xaldin turned, panting softly in exhaustion at the fight, to heal himself and get back to his schemes. Xemnas' eyes narrowed angrily at the pair. Someone among the crowd coughed and it sounded just a tad bit too much like 'desperate'. Finally reaching his last nerve, he no longer held himself in check. "GET UP!" He shrieked.

The answering, resounding thunk of his boots hitting the floor was encompassing and overwhelming enough to shake the ribs of all those present. Lexaeus had jumped to his feet, and the ground itself had responded in turn with a subtle quiver. He straightened himself easily, cracking his neck and popping his dislocated shoulder back into place with an uncaring grunt. He stared forward at Xaldin, gaze stoic and unreadable as he picked up Skysplitter with a remarkable ease for someone who had just gone through this once before. His opponent could not hide the shock from his face, or the glare of rage when realizing that this battle could repeat again. And again. And again. And again.

Zexion backed away from the duo, looking as though Christmas had come early. His smile could have not been wider, his gaze entirely focused as he shot his wicked, mad grin straight at Xaldin, something like vengefulness playing in his visible slate blue eye.

"End him." He ordered softly, voice quivering in anticipation, like a child reaching for a particularly valuable toy. He looked around at the entirety of the hooded figures, daring them to challenge him again. "Do it now. Do as I say."

Lexaeus lifted his axe.

A few minutes later, when Lexaeus was standing over the bloody, bludgeoned form of Xaldin, pulling two stray lances from his massive form as though they were distracting. The only sound, aside from subtle, ragged breathing of a man with broken ribs, was the clatter of a pen as Vexen watched in open mouthed amazement.

The victor stood, bleeding but not even winded, staring blankly, almost vacantly into the crowd, some of whom backed away in response. Zexion giggled softly, high pitched and cold.

"I shall keep this in mind." Xemnas said softly, pensively, casting the two bloody figures an unreadable stare before turning to leave. Several around him jumped in response to get out of his way, having forgotten he was there entirely.

Zexion was smiling all the while.


End file.
